


influence

by arisaema



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Karasuno Family, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisaema/pseuds/arisaema
Summary: “Kageyama, from here on out if you start getting bombarded with interviews, you’re gonna say ‘I learned everything I know from a magnificent senpai called Sugawara,’ got it?”Time passes, but Kageyama does not forget this instruction.





	influence

**Author's Note:**

> *taps kagesuga mic*  
> Is this thing still on?
> 
> Just in case people still care about them, here's my take on this beautiful gift from canon.
> 
>  
> 
> There's light alcohol consumption in this, if that bothers anyone!

“Kageyama, from here on out if you start getting bombarded with interviews, you’re gonna say ‘I learned everything I know from a magnificent senpai called Sugawara,’ got it?”

Suga says it for a few reasons:

One, because it’s fun to joke with Kageyama, especially now that he is comfortable enough around Suga to actually get the jokes sometimes (and it’s endearing enough to be worth it when he doesn’t). 

Two, because Suga _is_ proud of Kageyama’s progress, and wants to be proud of himself for his hand in it. If he isn’t going to be the team’s star setter, he can at least try and take pride in having helped guide the person who holds that position. It’s something he hopes he’s at least helped with, anyway.

And three, because joking with Kageyama means an excuse to touch him playfully, which Suga is not above acknowledging, if only to himself.

He leans in, flicks the hair in Kageyama’s face teasingly with a finger, and then props an elbow on Kageyama’s shoulder. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach his arm up that far. It looks more awkward than mentorly, which is a layer of subtle irony to the joke that Suga did for his own enjoyment. Plus, of course, the touching.

He expects the small flush that peeks out of the back of Kageyama’s jacket, the small tensing of his shoulders, the quick widening and blinking of his eyes. What he doesn’t expect is the speed and conviction of Kageyama’s response. Suga’s barely has time to finish his sentence, to even appreciate flustering him before Kageyama speaks.

There’s a solemn Kageyama-type nod of understanding, and one word, like a kouhai desperate to please, like a soldier wholeheartedly believing in the order he’s following, “Yes.”

Suga’s knees go momentarily weak with the sincerity of it. It’s one thing to mess with Kageyama, to playfully overstate his own value for the effect, but it’s entirely another thing to know that Kageyama believes it. 

Suga fights back his own blush mostly successfully and regains his balance without anyone seeming to notice. He’s thankful, for more than one reason now, that he’d leaned his weight on Kageyama’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Scoot _over_ ,” Tanaka says, squeezing his way onto the couch, shoving Noya before he can move on his own, “How does someone so tiny take up so much space?” 

“The personality requires an extra cushion,” laughs Asahi, and he lets his lap get sprawled on as Noya makes room, somehow not spilling his beer.

Daichi turns from where he’s sitting on the floor, saying “Everyone, get quiet and find a seat. It’s gonna start and we’re gonna miss it if you don’t figure your shit out in time.”

Suga smiles and pulls up a chair. It’s nice to be all together like this again. He sees Asahi on most visits home, and Daichi attends university in Tokyo like Suga does, so they see each other pretty regularly, but it’s been a while since all five of them hung out like this. The comfortable nostalgic squabbling and jostling settles warm in his chest.

“Has anyone talked to him?” Noya asks from his half perch on Asahi’s lap as Daichi turns on the TV and finds the right channel.

“Nah.”

“Not really.”

“Not since graduation.”

“He sent me a paper copy of an article about him getting signed to the Panthers, barely out of university and everything, like I hadn’t already heard.” Daichi shakes his head, “He addressed the envelope to ‘Captain Sawamura.’”

“We text, sometimes. Wish each other happy birthday and all that.” Suga speaks softly, a little surprised. He hadn’t realized he’d been the only one Kageyama kept in touch with. “Sometimes he sends me blurry far away photos of cats he sees on the street, and I tell him to get snapchat, and he doesn’t. That’s about it.”

“Really? Kageyama? Sends you cat photos?” Tanaka asks, grinning, and Suga realizes they are all looking at him with extreme interest. 

He hadn’t meant it as an admission of anything, but with all their eyes on him, it starts to feel like one.

“What do you--” Noya starts.

“It’s starting!” Daichi cuts him off, and Suga gives him a thankful nod as everyone’s faces snap toward the TV. Daichi keeps his eyebrow raised for a moment before he turns away, though, so Suga knows he’s not off the hook for an explanation, later.

He thumbs his phone’s home button in his pocket, remembering the text he’d gotten earlier that morning. He hadn’t told the guys about that one, and now he’s relieved he didn’t.

 **Kageyama Tobio:** Please remember to watch my match today. It should be broadcast on most sports networks. Let me know if you need help finding it. I will try to make you proud.

The sound of the announcer’s voice calls Suga back to the present. _And here tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have the Suntory Sunbirds up against the Panasonic Panthers_. The teams run out onto the court, and the announcer continues. _The Panthers will be testing out their newest addition tonight: Setter Kageyama Tobio. Let’s see if he can fill Nakayama’s shoes..._

Suga stops listening again, because the camera zooms in on Kageyama as he jogs in. He’s taller and broader than Suga remembers, and god, he filled out. Kageyama sent him a selfie once, but it was only about a quarter of his face in front of a bowl of ramen, with the caption “This is a good restaurant. I think you would like it.” Suga assumed he’d grown since high school, sure, but he isn’t prepared for this. He can practically see the lines of muscle through the jersey. The TV is upsettingly high-definition. Suga leans forward in his chair, tightening his grip on his beer bottle.

When the game begins, Kageyama’s face is set and ready. He moves with a calm, powerful grace unlike anything Suga has ever seen. His friends start off commenting on every play, but their analysis can’t keep up with the pace of it, so they just settle in to watch, offering up a “wow” or an instinctual “don’t mind” when the situation calls for it, only getting up for more drinks during commercial breaks.

Mostly, though, they watch breathlessly as Kageyama finds openings for his sets with terrifying precision, working in sync with his entire team. He’s the axis around which every piece of his team moves, clean and strong and sure. If he had been good in high school, he is unreal, now.

“It’s like watching _art_ Tanaka whispers. 

Suga feels a little queasy, because it’s true. It’s not that Kageyama is so mind-shakingly different than he was in high school. That’s not what has him reeling. It’s more that Suga remembers just how tenuous his hold on his feelings about Kageyama had been, back then. It had been confusing for his younger self to work out the mix of wanting what Kageyama _had_ , and wanting _Kageyama_. So now that he’s accepted both his sexuality and the fact that he excels in other things that are not volleyball, there’s not much left to be restrained _about_. 

He can, now, (thanks to some loving camerawork) watch the sweat run down over the steady pulse in Kageyama’s neck in the moment before the ball touches his fingers, his eyes darting from player to player in preparation, his entire body a coil of potential energy. He can watch his body shift into action, executing his play with no movement wasted. Every plane of muscle working together to make him somehow simultaneously a powerfully efficient machine and a flourish of human beauty. Suga swallows, heavy.

By the end of the game, which the Panthers win handily, Suga feels like he’s ready to run a marathon, or take a nap, or tackle Kageyama, immediately. It’s a lot. 

“So,” Asahi breaks the silence as a sportscaster starts giving a rundown of the game, “he got good.”

“Did you _see_ in the second set, when--” Noya starts.

“YES, when they were down, and their middle blocker was--” Tanaka interrupts. And just like that, they’re discussing the game at high speed, shouting over each other all the things they were too rapt to mention earlier.

“Oh,” Suga says, snapping his fingers, “Hey, shut up, he’s back.” 

They all shush immediately, attention back to where the sportscaster has his hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. “This has been a strong first performance for you, number 9. Some fans have been following your impressive university career at Nippon Sport Science University, but other viewers may be newcomers to the Kageyama Tobio story, wondering how a kid from Karasuno made it this far.”

Loud whoops, half excitement at the mention of their high school team, half affront at what could have been intended as a slight to it, erupt from the couch.

“Yes, my high school team helped me become the player I am today,” Kageyama answers, and Suga is trying to work out how much of his answer is straightforward and how much is an impressively graceful sidestep to the insult buried in the question, when Kageyama continues. “Karasuno worked very hard, and I would not be here without them.” 

The firm, earnest look in Kageyama’s eyes turns softer for a moment, like he’s remembering something. The corner of his mouth twitches upward; a sight Suga has only seen a handful of times. He’s distracted by the way Kageyama’s lips look when he’s smiling, the way it makes his whole face seem more open, still framed by the sharp edge of his jawline. He almost misses when Kageyama starts speaking again until he hears his name, and the world shifts into sharp and terrifying focus. “I...I owe a lot to a magnificent senpai, Sugawara.”

There is a moment where the only sound in the room is the sound of the sportscaster talking, saying something Suga can't fully process about fans being thankful for good senpai and thanking Kageyama for his effort and time, and then Suga blinks and everything around him is noise.

Tanaka jumps up and down on the couch, jostling Asahi and Noya, who don't seem to mind, being too busy yelling, themselves. Daichi stares at him, both eyebrows raised. The TV behind them has cut to commercial.

"SUGAAAAA!" Noya calls out, leaping over Asahi to ruffle Suga's hair. The others follow suit, acting like _Suga_ is the one who won something, slapping his back in congratulations.

"I didn't... I thought he would forget..." Suga tries to get out, the memory of the time he told Kageyama to credit him for his greatness coming back to him. He hadn't thought this far ahead, then. When he thinks about that moment now, he mostly calls up the feeling of want, and of his arm on Kageyama's shoulder. It mixes pleasantly with the warm, hopeful way Kageyama had looked when he'd said his name on national television. His heart is racing.

“Shit.” Says Tanaka, his face turning serious. “We gotta toast to this. Right now.” He runs to the fridge for a fresh round of drinks, Noya trailing behind him. Asahi settles back into his seat. 

“Casual cat pic texting, huh?” Daichi says, smirking.

Suga grins back, brave. “For now.”

He downs the rest of the drink in his hand, pulls his phone from his pocket, and opens his text conversation with Kageyama. He’s not sure where this is headed, but fact that it’s possible to make it head anywhere at all is beating loudly in his ribcage. He takes a steadying breath and starts typing.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about kgsg


End file.
